


July 20th, 1944

by zade



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sappy Roy, alternate!roy, conqueror of shamballa, hitler mention, implied attempted murder, references to wwii
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward corrects his mistakes when he makes them, which he does because he is human.  Edward will look over his notes and sigh, and call him and idiot, but almost fondly, eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than would be comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	July 20th, 1944

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the incomparable Andy.
> 
> warnings for: big age difference, general WWII stuff, mention of historical assassination attempt, implied revolutionary suicide

He has lived alone for most of his life so he’s surprised at how easy it is to fit another person into his home.  His apartment is one small room on the outskirts of Berlin, but Edward doesn’t mind.  Edward takes up more space that he even thought he had, spreading out papers and journals from one end of the room to another.

Edward doesn’t tell him where he’s from, but speaks in English and fractured German, and writes in a language that is completely unrecognizable. He speaks to Edward in English, because he studied in London, and the words come with an almost ease, spattered with German and bits of Chinese he learned from his grandfather.

He studies chemistry.  He’s good at it, and it comes naturally to him. 

He doesn’t tell Edward what he’s working on, but Edward doesn’t ask either. He lets Edward help him with his studies, his classwork, but he hides a project, and Edward knows. Edward is charmed by his scientific exploits.  He isn’t as meticulous as Edward, but he’s passionate and creative and where Edward would get bogged down and aggravated and storm off, he laughs and tries again and again.

Edward corrects his mistakes when he makes them, which he does because he is human.  Edward will look over his notes and sigh, and call him and idiot, but almost fondly, eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than would be comfortable.

He is used to intimacy with Edward, which is different than intimacy with everyone else he’s ever known.  Edward begrudges touches, huffs and whines, and leans into them when he thinks no one is looking.  He’ll kiss the scarred up flesh on Edward’s arm and leg, run his teeth along the sensitive places before the scar tissue starts.

Edward, breathless, scoffs, “Idiot.”

He has grown to like the term.

Edward grumbles afterwards, but usually lets himself be manhandled into cuddling. He will wrap his arms around Edward, and eventually the blond will drift off to sleep.  Their intimacy is difficult, but not uneasy.

“Why aren’t you ruling the world?”

He laughs into Edward’s hair, warm breath kicking up goose bumps along Edward’s pale neck.  “Am I wearing my world conquering hat today?  My mistake, _liebling_ , I thought I had taken it off.”

Edward rolls over, faces him.  “I’m serious.  You could do anything—anything! What are you planning on doing with your life?”

He laughs again, rubs his nose against Edward’s and smiles when Edward scrunches up his face in mild annoyance.  “Chemistry.  You should know that, since you’re constantly correcting my work.”

“And then what?” Edward asks, and run his hand up and down between their chests.

He considers this, chuckles.  “Teach, maybe?  _Do_ chemistry.”

Edward smacks him on the chest with the metal hand, and he squeals. “That’s it?  That’s the plan?  Maybe do chemistry?  Jesus, you could do _anything_ and this is what you’ve decided?  This meaning, fucking nothing?”

“Shhh,” he says.  He kisses Edward’s forehead, and instead of shying away, Edward presses closer to him, burrows into his chest, into his warmth.

“Idiot,” Edward mutters, then closes his eyes.

Edward looks like a child when he sleeps, long eyelashes resting delicately on his pale cheeks, still ruddy from sex and chubby from the adolescence he hasn’t quite grown out of.

“I want to help people,” he tells Edward’s sleeping form, who drools and little, and sniffles.  “I want to change the world.  Trust me.”

He wakes up the next morning before Edward, which is not unusual. Edward sleeps odd hours, sometimes constantly, sometimes staying awake for days on end.  He slips out of bed, glad for once that Edward sleeps late. 

He keeps it hidden in the linen closet, a place that Edward would never choose to go.  He takes it out, places it slowly into a bag he has at the ready, careful not to jostle it.

He writes Edward a note.  He is not a code cracker, but he is also very smart.  He has not figured out where the text that Edward writes in comes from, but he has reached a point where he can read it in starts and stops, and has, to his shame, read through most of Edward’s journals.  They read like fantasy and fiction, but are told with such coldness, so little detail where it counts and so much on theory and chemistry and “alchemy,” that he believes them.  He is also a little bit of a bastard, and so signs his name in that text.

“My dearest Edward.  Please do not think any less of me from what you may see in the papers. I do only as I feel I must with the gifts I have been given.  I’ve paid for the room until the year’s end.  It’s yours.  Take it, my love, and take care.  I hope you reach your homeland, and find the other with my face.  If he will not be yours, he is a fool. But I thank you for being mine, for a time. With all my heart, Roy.”

He leaves the note on the table, with the bread left over from last night’s dinner. He knows Edward will eat it absently as he wakes up, then feel ashamed about wasting food once he is fully conscious.  Edward will see the note later, read it, storm about angrily, yelling to the ceiling that he is an idiot.  He might cry, tomorrow, when he sees the news.  

He shrugs on a jacket, a military jacket, one that is unfamiliar on his form. He hoists the bag up on his shoulder, carefully.  He is a chemist, and he knows exactly what will set the thing off.  He is not in charge of planting it, for which he is glad, but he knows in several hours he will probably have been taken behind a shed and shot.

He takes a knee, kisses Edward goodbye, and Edward turns to him sleepily. He touches Edward’s cheek tenderly, and feels bad about leaving for the first time.

“It’s early, idiot,” Edward groans, eyelashes fluttering open and shut. “Let me sleep.”

“Goodbye, _liebling_.  I have to go.”  He kisses Edward again, and once more.  “I love you.”

“It’s too early for love.”  Edward flops over, away from him, and he laughs.  Edward is still so young, where it counts.  Jaded and scarred, but terribly naïve and young, and still has so much faith in him, and in goodness.

He stands slowly, makes for the door.  His hand is on the knob when he hears, softly.

“Hey idiot!” He turns and looks over his shoulder.  Edward’s leaning on an elbow, half sitting up, and naked under the off-white sheets.  “I love you, too.”

He smiles, helplessly, and Edward glares at him, fondly, before falling backwards into bed again.

“Stop staring, dumbass!”

He leaves, laughing, locking the door behind him and sliding his keys back under the door, and heads out to hand a bomb to a man, and, if all goes according to plan, Hitler will be dead by tomorrow afternoon.  His palms are sweaty, but he ducks his head and walks quickly in the early morning chill.

He has always, in all his lives, believed that power belonged with the people.

 


End file.
